George Chapman

Hero And Leander. The Fifth Sestiad - Poem by George Chapman

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Now was bright Hero weary of the day,Thought an Olympiad in Leander's stay.Sol and the soft-foot Hours hung on his arms,And would not let him swim, foreseeing his harms:That day Aurora double grace obtain'dOf her love Phoebus; she his horses reign'd,Set on his golden knee, and, as she list,She pull'd him back; and as she pull'd she kiss'd,To have him turn to bed: he lov'd her more,To see the love Leander Hero bore: Examples profit much; ten times in one,In persons full of note, good deeds are done.Day was so long, men walking fell asleep;The heavy humours that their eyes did steepMade them fear mischiefs. The hard streets were bedsFor covetous churls and for ambitious heads,That, spite of Nature, would their business ply:All thought they had the falling epilepsy,Men grovell'd so upon the smother'd ground;And pity did the heart of Heaven confound. The Gods, the Graces, and the Muses cameDown to the Destinies, to stay the frameOf the true lovers' deaths, and all world's tears:But Death before had stopp'd their cruel ears.All the celestials parted mourning then,Pierc'd with our human miseries more than men:Ah, nothing doth the world with mischief fill,But want of feeling one another's ill!With their descent the day grew something fair,And cast a brighter robe upon the air. Hero, to shorten time with merriment,For young Alcmane and bright Mya sent,Two lovers that had long crav'd marriage-duesAt Hero's hands: but she did still refuse;For lovely Mya was her consort vow'dIn her maid state, and therefore not allow'dTo amorous nuptials: yet fair Hero nowIntended to dispense with her cold vow,Since hers was broken, and to marry her:The rites would pleasing matter minister To her conceits, and shorten tedious day.They came; sweet Music usher'd th' odorous way,And wanton Air in twenty sweet forms dancedAfter her fingers; Beauty and Love advancedTheir ensigns in the downless rosy facesOf youths and maids led after by the Graces.For all these Hero made a friendly feast,Welcom'd them kindly, did much love protest,Winning their hearts with all the means she might.That, when her fault should chance t' abide the light Their loves might cover or extenuate it,And high in her worst fate make pity sit.She married them; and in the banquet came,Borne by the virgins. Hero striv'd to frameHer thoughts to mirth: ay me! but hard it isTo imitate a false and forced bliss;Ill may a sad mind forge a merry face,Nor hath constrained laughter any grace.Then laid she wine on cares to make them sink:Who fears the threats of Fortune, let him drink. To these quick nuptials enter'd suddenlyAdmired Teras with the ebon thigh;A nymph that haunted the green Sestian groves,And would consort soft virgins in their loves,At gaysome triumphs and on solemn days,Singing prophetic elegies and lays,And fingering of a silver lute she tiedWith black and purple scarfs by her left side.Apollo gave it, and her skill withal,And she was term'd his dwarf, she was so small: Yet great in virtue, for his beams enclosedHis virtues in her; never was proposedRiddle to her, or augury, strange or new,But she resolv'd it; never slight tale flewFrom her charm'd lips without important sense,Shown in some grave succeeding consequence.This little sylvan, with her songs and tales,Gave such estate to feasts and nuptials,That though ofttimes she forewent tragedies,Yet for her strangeness still she pleas'd their eyes; And for her smallness they admir'd her so,They thought her perfect born, and could not grow.All eyes were on her. Hero did commandAn altar decked with sacred state should standAt the feast's upper end, close by the bride,On which the pretty nymph might sit espied.Then all were silent; every one so hears,As all their senses climb'd into their ears:And first this amorous tale, that fitted wellFair Hero and the nuptials, she did tell.

_The Tale of Teras._

Hymen, that now is god of nuptial rites,And crowns with honour Love and his delights,Of Athens was a youth, so sweet of face,That many thought him of the female race;Such quickening brightness did his clear eyes dart,Warm went their beams to his beholder's heart,In such pure leagues his beauties were combin'd,That there your nuptial contracts first were signed;For as proportion, white and crimson, meetIn beauty's mixture, all right clear and sweet, The eye responsible, the golden hair,And none is held, without the other, fair;All spring together, all together fade;Such intermix'd affections should invadeTwo perfect lovers; which being yet unseen,Their virtues and their comforts copied beenIn beauty's concord, subject to the eye;And that, in Hymen, pleased so matchlessly,That lovers were esteemed in their full grace,Like form and colour mixed in Hymen's face; And such sweet concord was thought worthy thenOf torches, music, feasts, and greatest men:So Hymen look'd that even the chastest mindHe mov'd to join in joys of sacred kind;For only now his chin's first down consortedHis head's rich fleece in golden curls contorted;And as he was so loved, he loved so too:So should best beauties bound by nuptials, do.Bright Eucharis, who was by all men saidThe noblest, fairest, and the richest maid Of all th' Athenian damsels, Hymen lov'dWith such transmission, that his heart remov'dFrom his white breast to hers: but her estate,In passing his, was so interminateFor wealth and honour, that his love durst feedOn naught but sight and hearing, nor could breedHope of requital, the grand prize of love;Nor could he hear or see, but he must proveHow his rare beauty's music would agreeWith maids in consort; therefore robbed he His chin of those same few first fruits it bore,And, clad in such attire as virgins wore,He kept them company, and might right well,For he did all but Eucharis excelIn all the fair of beauty! yet he wantedVirtue to make his own desires implantedIn his dear Eucharis; for women neverLove beauty in their sex, but envy ever.His judgment yet, that durst not suit address,Nor, past due means, presume of due success, Reason gat Fortune in the end to speedTo his best prayers: but strange it seemed, indeed,That Fortune should a chaste affection bless:Preferment seldom graceth bashfulness.Nor grac'd it Hymen yet; but many a dart,And many an amorous thought, enthralled his heart,Ere he obtained her; and he sick became,Forced to abstain her sight; and then the flameRaged in his bosom. O, what grief did fill him!Sight made him sick, and want of sight did kill him. The virgins wonder'd where Diaetia stay'd,For so did Hymen term himself, a maid.At length with sickly looks he greeted them:Tis strange to see 'gainst what an extreme streamA lover strives; poor Hymen look'd so ill,That as in merit he increased stillBy suffering much, so he in grace decreas'd:Women are most won, when men merit least:If Merit look not well, Love bids stand by;Love's special lesson is to please the eye. And Hymen soon recovering all he lost,Deceiving still these maids, but himself most,His love and he with many virgin dames,Noble by birth, noble by beauty's flames,Leaving the town with songs and hallow'd lightsTo do great Ceres Eleusina ritesOf zealous sacrifice, were made a preyTo barbarous rovers, that in ambush lay,And with rude hands enforc'd their shining spoil,Far from the darkened city, tired with toil: And when the yellow issue of the skyCame trooping forth, jealous of crueltyTo their bright fellows of this under-heaven,Into a double night they saw them driven,--A horrid cave, the thieves' black mansion;Where, weary of the journey they had gone,Their last night's watch, and drunk with their sweet gains,Dull Morpheus enter'd, laden with silken chains,Stronger than iron, and bound the swelling veinsAnd tired senses of these lawless swains. But when the virgin lights thus dimly burn'd,O, what a hell was heaven in! how they mourn'dAnd wrung their hands, and wound their gentle formsInto the shapes of sorrow! golden stormsFell from their eyes; as when the sun appears,And yet it rains, so show'd their eyes their tears:And, as when funeral dames watch a dead corse,Weeping about it, telling with remorseWhat pains he felt, how long in pain he lay,How little food he ate, what he would say; And then mix mournful tales of other's deaths,Smothering themselves in clouds of their own breaths;At length, one cheering other, call for wine;The golden bowl drinks tears out of their eyne,As they drink wine from it; and round it goes,Each helping other to relieve their woes;So cast these virgins' beauties mutual rays,One lights another, face the face displays;Lips by reflection kissed, and hands hands shook,Even by the whiteness each of other took. But Hymen now used friendly Morpheus' aid,Slew every thief, and rescued every maid:And now did his enamour'd passion takeHeart from his hearty deed, whose worth did makeHis hope of bounteous Eucharis more strong;And now came Love with Proteus, who had longJuggled the little god with prayers and gifts,Ran through all shapes and varied all his shifts,To win Love's stay with him, and make him love him.And when he saw no strength of sleight could move him,To make him love or stay, he nimbly turned Into Love's self, he so extremely burned.And thus came Love, with Proteus and his power,T' encounter Eucharis: first, like the flowerThat Juno's milk did spring, the silver lily,He fell on Hymen's hand, who straight did spyThe bounteous godhead, and with wondrous joyOffer'd it Eucharis. She, wonderous coy,Drew back her hand: the subtle flower did woo it,And, drawing it near, mixed so you could not know it: As two clear tapers mix in one their light,So did the lily and the hand their white.She viewed it; and her view the form bestowsAmongst her spirits; for, as colour flowsFrom superficies of each thing we see,Even so with colours forms emitted be;And where Love's form is, Love is; Love is form:He entered at the eye; his sacred stormRose from the hand, Love's sweetest instrument:It stirred her blood's sea so, that high it went, And beat in bashful waves 'gainst the white shoreOf her divided cheeks; it raged the more,Because the tide went 'gainst the haughty windOf her estate and birth: and, as we find,In fainting ebbs, the flowery Zephyr hurlsThe green-haired Hellespont, broke in silver curls,'Gainst Hero's tower; but in his blast's retreat,The waves obeying him, they after beat,Leaving the chalky shore a great way pale,Then moist it freshly with another gale; So ebbed and flowed the blood in Eucharis' face,Coyness and Love strived which had greatest grace;Virginity did fight on Coyness' side,Fear of her parent's frowns and female prideLoathing the lower place, more than it lovesThe high contents desert and virtue moves.With Love fought Hymen's beauty and his valure,Which scarce could so much favour yet allureTo come to strike, but fameless idle stood:Action is fiery valour's sovereign good. But Love, once entered, wished no greater aidThan he could find within; thought thought betray'd;The bribed, but incorrupted, garrisonSung 'Io Hymen;' there those songs begun,And Love was grown so rich with such a gain,And wanton with the ease of his free reign,That he would turn into her roughest frownsTo turn them out; and thus he Hymen crownsKing of his thoughts, man's greatest empery:This was his first brave step to deity. Home to the mourning city they repair,With news as wholesome as the morning air,To the sad parents of each saved maid:But Hymen and his Eucharis had laidThis plat to make the flame of their delightRound as the moon at full, and full as bright.Because the parents of chaste EucharisExceeding Hymen's so, might cross their bliss;And as the world rewards deserts, that lawCannot assist with force; so when they saw Their daughter safe, take vantage of their own,Praise Hymen's valour much, nothing bestown;Hymen must leave the virgins in a groveFar off from Athens, and go first to prove,If to restore them all with fame and life,He should enjoy his dearest as his wife.This told to all the maids, the most agree:The riper sort, knowing what 'tis to beThe first mouth of a news so far derived,And that to hear and bear news brave folks lived. As being a carriage special hard to bearOccurrents, these occurrents being so dear,They did with grace protest, they were contentT' accost their friends with all their compliment,For Hymen's good; but to incur their harm,There he must pardon them. This wit went warmTo Adolesche's brain, a nymph born high,Made all of voice and fire, that upwards fly:Her heart and all her forces' nether trainClimb'd to her tongue, and thither fell her brain, Since it could go no higher; and it must go;All powers she had, even her tongue, did so:In spirit and quickness she much joy did take,And loved her tongue, only for quickness' sake;And she would haste and tell. The rest all stay:Hymen goes one, the nymph another way;And what became of her I'll tell at last:Yet take her visage now;--moist-lipped, long-faced,Thin like an iron wedge, so sharp and tart,As 'twere of purpose made to cleave Love's heart: Well were this lovely beauty rid of her.And Hymen did at Athens now preferHis welcome suit, which he with joy aspired:A hundred princely youths with him retiredTo fetch the nymphs; chariots and music went;And home they came: heaven with applauses rent.The nuptials straight proceed, whiles all the town,Fresh in their joys, might do them most renown.First, gold-locked Hymen did to church repair,Like a quick offering burned in flames of hair; And after, with a virgin firmamentThe godhead-proving bride attended wentBefore them all: she looked in her command,As if form-giving Cypria's silver handGripped all their beauties, and crushed out one flame;She blushed to see how beauty overcameThe thoughts of all men. Next, before her wentFive lovely children, decked with ornamentOf her sweet colours, bearing torches by;For light was held a happy augury Of generation, whose efficient rightIs nothing else but to produce to light.The odd disparent number they did choose,To show the union married loves should use,Since in two equal parts it will not sever,But the midst holds one to rejoin it ever,As common to both parts: men therefore deemThat equal number gods do not esteem,Being authors of sweet peace and unity,But pleasing to th' infernal empery, Under whose ensigns Wars and Discords fight,Since an even number you may disuniteIn two parts equal, naught in middle leftTo reunite each part from other reft;And five they hold in most especial prize,Since 'tis the first odd number that doth riseFrom the two foremost numbers' unity,That odd and even are; which are two and three;For one no number is; but thence doth flowThe powerful race of number. Next, did go A noble matron, that did spinning bearA huswife's rock and spindle, and did wearA wether's skin, with all the snowy fleece,To intimate that even the daintiest pieceAnd noblest-born dame should industrious be:That which does good disgraceth no degree.And now to Juno's temple they are come,Where her grave priest stood in the marriage-room:On his right arm did hang a scarlet veil,And from his shoulders to the ground did trail, On either side, ribands of white and blue:With the red veil he hid the bashful hueOf the chaste bride, to show the modest shame,In coupling with a man, should grace a dame.Then took he the disparent silks, and tiedThe lovers by the waists, and side to side,In token that thereafter they must bindIn one self-sacred knot each other's mind.Before them on an altar he presentedBoth fire and water, which was first invented, Since to ingenerate every human creatureAnd every other birth produc'd by Nature,Moisture and heat must mix; so man and wifeFor human race must join in nuptial life.Then one of Juno's birds, the painted jay,He sacrific'd and took the gall away;All which he did behind the altar throw,In sign no bitterness of hate should grow,'Twixt married loves, nor any least disdain.Nothing they spake, for 'twas esteem'd too plain For the most silken mildness of a maid,To let a public audience hear it said,She boldly took the man; and so respectedWas bashfulness in Athens, it erectedTo chaste Agneia, which is Shamefacedness,A sacred temple, holding her a goddess.And now to feasts, masks, and triumphant shows,The shining troops returned, even till earth-throesBrought forth with joy the thickest part of night,When the sweet nuptial song, that used to cite All to their rest, was by Phemonoee sung,First Delphian prophetess, whose graces sprungOut of the Muses' well: she sung beforeThe bride into her chamber; at which doorA matron and a torch-bearer did stand:A painted box of confits in her handThe matron held, and so did other someThat compassed round the honour'd nuptial room.The custom was, that every maid did wear,During her maidenhead, a silken sphere About her waist, above her inmost weed,Knit with Minerva's knot, and that was freedBy the fair bridegroom on the marriage-night,With many ceremonies of delight:And yet eternized Hymen's tender bride,To suffer it dissolved so, sweetly cried.The maids that heard, so loved and did adore her,They wished with all their hearts to suffer for her.So had the matrons, that with confits stoodAbout the chamber, such affectionate blood, And so true feeling of her harmless pains,That every one a shower of confits rains;For which the bride-youths scrambling on the ground,In noise of that sweet hail her cries were drown'd.And thus blest Hymen joyed his gracious bride,And for his joy was after deified.The saffron mirror by which Phoebus' love,Green Tellus, decks her, now he held aboveThe cloudy mountains: and the noble maid,Sharp-visaged Adolesche, that was stray'd Out of her way, in hasting with her news,Not till this hour th' Athenian turrets views;And now brought home by guides, she heard by all,That her long kept occurrents would be stale,And how fair Hymen's honours did excelFor those rare news which she came short to tell.To hear her dear tongue robbed of such a joy,Made the well-spoken nymph take such a toy,That down she sunk: when lightning from aboveShrunk her lean body, and, for mere free love, Turn'd her into the pied-plum'd Psittacus,That now the Parrot is surnam'd by us,Who still with counterfeit confusion pratesNaught but news common to the common'st mates.--This told, strange Teras touch'd her lute, and sungThis ditty, that the torchy evening sprung.

_Epithalamion Teratos._

Come, come, dear Night! Love's mart of kisses,Sweet close to his ambitious line,The fruitful summer of his blisses!Love's glory doth in darkness shine. O come, soft rest of cares! come, Night!Come, naked Virtue's only tire,The reaped harvest of the light,Bound up in sheaves of sacred fire!Love calls to war;Sighs his alarms,Lips his swords are,The field his arms.

No need have we of factious Day,To cast, in envy of thy peace,Her balls of discord in thy way:Here Beauty's day doth never cease; Day is abstracted here,And varied in a triple sphere.Hero, Alcmane, Mya, so outshine thee,Ere thou come here, let Thetis thrice refine thee.Love calls to war;Sighs his alarms,Lips his swords are,The field his arms.

Rise, virgins! let fair nuptial loves enfoldYour fruitless breasts: the maidenheads ye holdAre not your own alone, but parted are;Part in disposing them your parents share,And that a third part is; so must ye saveYour loves a third, and you your thirds must have.Love paints his longings in sweet virgins' eyes:Rise, youths! Love's rite claims more than banquets; rise!

Herewith the amorous spirit, that was so kindTo Teras' hair, and comb'd it down with wind,Still as it, comet-like, brake from her brain,Would needs have Teras gone, and did refrainTo blow it down: which, staring up, dismay'dThe timorous feast; and she no longer stay'd;But, bowing to the bridegroom and the bride,Did, like a shooting exhalation, glideOut of their sights: the turning of her backMade them all shriek, it look'd so ghastly black. O hapless Hero! that most hapless cloudThy soon-succeeding tragedy foreshow'd.Thus all the nuptial crew to joys depart;But much-wronged Hero stood Hell's blackest dart:Whose wound because I grieve so to display,I use digressions thus t' increase the day.